


early light

by shuofthewind



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Lip Scar, just kissing, seriously, there is no plot in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:23:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3210662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuofthewind/pseuds/shuofthewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dawn in the Skyhold garden is too much for Ellana to resist. A drabble dedicated to that stupid scar on stupid Cullen's stupid face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	early light

**Author's Note:**

> As I do with all my Bioware things, I lay the blame for this entirely at the feet of turiantea. 
> 
> Thanks, turiantea. You've ruined my life. _Again._

The air in Skyhold seems to be almost be quivering when Ellana creeps out into the garden. It’s barely dawn; not even the birds have roused when she steps barefoot into the snow. She should be cold, she thinks. Josephine’s already quizzed her any number of times about how she can handle the snow without shoes, but she’s never really thought about it. The chill air makes the hair stand on her arms and the back of her neck, but her feet are steady and unhesitant as she makes her way past the elfroot patch and swipes snow off of the nearest bench. She closes her left hand into a fist and sits, swiping her thumb absently over the mark on her palm, before leaning back on her hands and staring up into the sky. The dawn over Skyhold is breathtaking in a way that dawn has never been for her, before—pinks and yellows and even greens that turn into a searing white as the sun reflects off the snow. Her eyes are already watering. Ellana blinks twice and then closes her eyes to listen.

She can see the mountaintops better from her balcony, but this morning she needs green things, even if they’re buried under drifts. She needs the earth under her toes and not cold stone; she needs elfroot and rosemary and the patch of deathroot that they keep in the corner for Leliana’s poisons, and the feel of roots creeping through the earth.

She hears the snow crunch before she realizes she’s not alone. Ellana shoots to her feet, hands out, flames cupped in one palm— _stupid_ , she tells herself, _stupid, when Skyhold is still so safe_ —but it’s just Cullen. His eyes flick from her face to her hand and back again, and a little voice in the back of her mind goes, _Is he still_ just _Cullen_?

Ellana douses the flame.

“My lady Inquisitor,” he says, in a low voice that makes her skin creep delightfully. He’s gazing at her mouth. The knowledge that she can kiss him now is intoxicating. Ellana smiles, and his eyes darken and flick back up to hers. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“Would you believe me if I say you didn’t?”

He steps closer to her, almost hesitant, like he thinks she’s going to run. “Not particularly. But I will say so, if it make you feel better.”

Ellana smiles again. Then she steps into him, unable to help herself. She goes up on tiptoe and hums into the curve of his throat, enjoying the way it makes him shiver. He smells like metal and leather and male, and the bite of his armor stings at her bare arms, but then he swirls his cloak around her and she warms. “Mm. Did you sleep at all, Commander? There are rings under your eyes. ”

He hesitates, and then he curves his arms around her and sets his chin atop her head. This thing is still so new between them, she thinks. It’s as fragile as a fresh-woven spiderweb, but it has the potential to be just as beautiful, she thinks. If it survives. “A little.” She wishes she could hear his heartbeat, but the breastplate is too thick. “Not much. Did you?”

“Nightmares.” Nightmares of snow and ice and crushing cold; nightmares of blood and death and burning flesh. Fade dreams, too, but mostly nightmares. She closes her eyes. She ought to have stepped away by now, but when she tries, his hands flex just slightly on her shoulders. So she stays instead. “What are you doing out in the garden this early?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He sighs. The air wafts like smoke over her hair. “I was praying, to be honest. I haven’t had much time lately. I thought it…wise.”

“To pray?” Ellana rests her chin against his armor, peering up at him with raised eyebrows. Cullen looks down, and she’s not quite imagining the pink in his ears. “This early? Surely your Maker could have waited until you had a few more hours’ sleep.”

He laughs, startled. “Well—yes. Perhaps. I suppose He could have. But I wanted to.”

She won’t pretend that she understands the Maker, but she does understand wanting peace. Peace doesn’t come from prayer, exactly, but for some it does. She knows how that feels better than most. Ellana hums again, and waits.

“And you?” Cullen says eventually, after feeling returns to her fingertips.

“I wanted to see the garden at dawn.” She hasn’t slept all night, and her eyes hurt, and the garden is clean and clear and free of bad memories. “It’s usually quiet this time of morning. Even Morrigan has to sleep sometime.”

“I think you might be the only one that believes that.”

Ellana grins. Cullen smiles back, the corners of his lips twitching up. The scar tugs. She can’t help herself. Ellana goes up on tiptoes again, and sets her lips just lightly against the start of the scar, holding tight to his shoulders to keep herself balanced. Cullen takes a sudden breath, and then he leans down into her, pressing close, one hand resting warm against the small of her back. The other tangles in her hair. Cold air blasts against her neck when his cloak falls away, but she’s too warm to really care. Finally, she pulls back, smiling against his mouth.

“Hello,” she says. Cullen swipes his thumb over the nape of her neck.

“Good morning to you.” He searches her eyes. “You’re well?”

His eyes seem almost gold in this light. Her smile fades, just a little. Ellana lifts her hand, and swipes her thumb over the bone in his cheek, the line of his scar. Cullen turns into her palm, and presses his lips to the mark there. It makes her insides tremble in the most glorious kind of way, the look on his face and the touch of his breath against her skin. Ellana swallows.

“Yes,” she says. “I am, in fact. Quite well indeed.”

 


End file.
